The bitter cold and chilling breeze that sways,
Remains of leaves that hang from meager threads,
The nights are now much longer than the days,
Upon the soggy, frozen ground I tread.
The air is sharp and heavy as can be,
It slits the throats of those who venture out,
The cloudy sky is turbid like the sea,
Whose waves rise up and crash and flow about.
A snowflake, thin as lace floats from the sky,
And makes a lonely journey to the ground,
And disappears into the soil, but why?
Until they never can be ever found.

These solemn mornings make us love the sun,
But warmth in winter days is close to none.